


what you get out on the edge

by black_lodge



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Daddy Kink, F/M, Incest, So much angst, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 12:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10876494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_lodge/pseuds/black_lodge
Summary: Rick and Beth's first time. "Rick is a weak and terrible man and their first time was alcohol-fueled and heartbreaking, what else did you expect??" A ficcification of Stickyickysmut's comic on Tumblr. Links in the notes.





	what you get out on the edge

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/289728) by Stickyickysmut. 



Sometime during the wee hours, a dimensional rift opens up that vastly expands the distance between Rick Sanchez's lab-cum-garage and the quiet of the Smith family's house. It has baffled him on more than one occasion, that trek from lab to bed. Something so mundane shouldn't pose such a challenge, but then again, Rick has never had patience for the mundane. Give him ball-faced lizard-people from the Fleegzorp system any time of the day. But at three in the morning? That side hallway, an obstacle course composed of abandoned muddy shoes and bags of recycling and Summer's lacrosse gear, can suck a whole bag of lizard-people dicks.

Tonight it's different, because tonight he steps into the house and the lights are still on. He knocks back a mouthful from his flask and almost breaks his ankle on -- what the fuck, is that a wine bottle? An  _ empty  _ wine bottle, one of those Costco gallon jugs of pinot noir that Beth swears aren't a sign of the impending alcoholism to which she's genetically predestined. It's rolling across the floor and he tracks it with bleary eyes as it rolls past the end of the couch, where --

A head pops up over the back of the couch and Rick stops in his tracks. Nobody was supposed to be home -- aren't they supposed to be out on some idiotic annual camping trip? -- but there's Beth, his baby girl, looking worse for the wear than even he feels.

"Who'zat? Jerry?" She hangs onto the couch cushion for a second until the effort becomes too much and she slumps down where he can't see her. "Ugh... didn't mean to fall asleep out here," he hears her mumble.

"Nah. 'S'not Jerry." He lets out a belch as he shuffles toward the couch. "I-it's me." As he comes around he gets another shock. "WHOA -- uhh, Beth, wh-where are your -- your pants??"

She grunts, turning over and trying to heave herself up into a sitting position. "Upstairs," she says, her legs long and white as she sprawls on the green couch cushions. 

"Was that really  _ all _ the wine?" she sighs, pressing a hand to her forehead as he counts two more empty bottles on the coffee table. There are a couple of drops left in a wine glass, but that won't do her much good. 

He sighs. "Here ya go," he says, handing over his flask. She's managed to right herself and she takes it with surprise.

"Thanks, Dad," she says as he drops down beside her on the couch. When he doesn't respond -- doesn't even look at her -- she clarifies, "This isn't a regular thing. I mean, I don't..."

"Hey, y-y-you don't gotta explain nothin' to me," he says, eyes averted. "It's - it's your house."

Next to him Beth takes a swig from the flask. When she passes it back to him, he follows suit. They're silent except for her mournful hiccup. In his peripheral vision her legs are very white, and sweetly plump next to his skinny thigh. 

"Um... is anyone else home?" she asks finally.

He burps. "D-don't think so...."

There's a pause and he can feel her eyeballing him hazily. When she hums thoughtfully he can feel it reverberating in his ribs.

"You know, it's so good to have you back in my life, Dad," she says, and when he looks down at her he sees her flushed cheeks and it's incredibly endearing. "For the first time in years you're here for me when no one else is."

He's not usually an affectionate man, but he makes an exception for his daughter. "Aw, c'mere Beth, sweetie," he says, drawing her into his shoulder. Despite her pantslessness, which he's chivalrously trying to ignore, she's hot all over. She nestles into his shoulder and her hair presses against his cheek. He's always loved her hair, ever since she was a little girl -- it was like cornsilk, but so thick, and he gently pets her head, enjoying her softness as she nuzzles against him. Her hands fold against his chest and he inhales the chemical smell of her artificially scented shampoo with pleasure.

It happens so quickly he doesn't have time to stop it. Before he realizes what's happening -- at least, that's what he convinces himself -- her mouth is on his. Her mouth, his daughter's mouth, sloppy and startlingly wet, pushing his lips against his teeth.

He jerks away, holding her in front of him like a disobedient child. " _ Beth _ !! Wh-what are you  _ doing _ ??" he exclaims, and instantly he knows his harsh tone is a mistake as the tears gather in her eyes. He releases her almost immediately.

"Oh my god, I don't know what I --" She cuts herself off, clapping her hands to her red cheeks. He stares at her with enormous eyes, the alcoholic fog clearing for the moment. God damn, he'd reacted just like some kind of authoritarian asshole. "I'm sorry, Dad! I'm so embarrassed," she moans, and the waterworks start.

"D-d-don't cry, Beth -- it's -- it's -- it's okay," he says, stuttering more than usual as he watches her shake next to him. His hand hovers over her shoulder but he doesn't dare touch her. Can't touch her. "I-I-I'm not mad at you!” he says desperately. “C-calm down! H-how about I help you get upstairs, huh? Get your pants back on?"

He gingerly puts a hand on the back of her shoulder -- safe spot, the favored anchor of corporate colleagues and earnest teachers, and she sobs "Okay."

He keeps his hand in the safe spot as they wobble up the stairs together. The blind leading the blind, he thinks, but he doesn't want to see her toppling backwards down the stairs -- it's a possibility he can all too clearly envision, and he thinks he's learned his lesson about taking chances where Beth is concerned. 

"It's gonna be okay, honey," he tells her as he opens her bedroom door. "J-j-just go to sleep and a-and forget about it." That’s what he plans to do. After taking the liquor cabinet for all it’s got. There’s a fifth of Captain Morgan’s back there that’ll do the trick, obliterate the memory of her soft lips, her slick tongue, his own desire.

He helps her into bed, and her eyes are rimmed with red and locked on his.

"I love you," she tells him simply.

He can't help himself. He strokes her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and feels about a thousand years old. 

He finally manages to look away. "O-okay, sweetie, I'm - I'm gonna l-let you go to sleep now," he says, but the moment he tries to step away, she's sitting up again, her hand on his chest like some kind of electromagnet he can't escape.

He breathes out her name long and slow. "You don't want this...."

She pulls him in and she's kissing him again, red lips molding to the corner of his mouth. "Beth, stop." Her eyes are squeezed shut, blocking out everything but sensation, but Rick is intensely aware of the open door behind them. She's clinging to him like white on rice and any moment he expects Morty or Summer or fucking Jerry to walk in. He almost doesn't care what that idiot would say, but he's certainly fucked the kids up bad enough as it is without inflicting this shitshow of a primal scene on their malleable psyches. 

"Y-you can't..." he tries, but even as he says it he feels his body responding to her, those lips on his jaw. It’s not just  _ her.  _ "We-we-we can't... stop it...." But she's lost in her own world.

Her hand, creeping up into his hair, is what does it. He seizes it and squeezes it tight enough to bruise and finally gets her attention, and he's close to a meltdown as he tells her emphatically, with no little amount of desperation in his voice, " _ You have to stop. _ "

She stares at him for the first time in minutes and it's like she's real again. His Beth, his little girl, not just another floozy at the Bar at the End of the Universe, or one of Unity's many, many bodies. Her eyes are full of tears again, and then they start to overflow. She doesn't sob this time and for some reason her silent weeping is so much worse.

"Can't you just make me feel good for once?" she says, her misery palpable, almost accusatory. "Just touch me... please...." She starts unbuttoning her pretty red blouse and Rick looks away in a panic, hands clenched at his sides, horrified.  _ Oh my god,  _ he thinks, and then realizes he's said it out loud when she grabs the lapels of his dirty old lab coat.

"You wouldn't still be standing here if you didn't want it too!!" she cries. Her hands are fisted in his coat, her forehead pressed against his, and he squeezes his eyes shut but it's too late, he's already seen her lovely bare breasts, so white her blue veins are visible beneath the skin. She presses her entire body up against his and he can't help the groan that escapes him and finally, finally he's laying back across the bed, his daughter clambering up to straddle his lap.

"Put your hands on me," she whispers, moving his hand to her ass when he doesn't respond, and then she's rubbing against him, against his unmistakably hard cock. He lies there stiff as a board, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling as she moves against him, but he doesn't take his hand off of her.

Her fingers stroke his cheek and then she's kissing him again, kissing him like she means it, and Rick knows she  _ does, _ drunk as she is. There’s no guile to it, nothing but sheer need. She needs him -- and he knows the truth: she’s always needed him, and he’s always left her wanting, and now that he’s a part of her life again, she needs him more than anything in the world. When she draws back he holds her by the arms and looks at her, all flushed and spread out over him, her breasts spilling over his still-clothed chest, nipples large and dark.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, and when he reaches up to touch her cheek she nuzzles into his palm. She's not crying anymore. In fact, there's no trace of the tears from earlier -- just half-lidded, slightly unfocused eyes and red, red cheeks.

Somehow he rolls her over, hovers over her, palms her heavy breast. This body has given birth to and nursed two children, but she's never looked worn -- just full and ripe and perfect. She's only what -- thirty-four, thirty-five? He looks his fill as he kneels back between her thighs. For as long as he can remember, he was never able to deny her for long, especially when she uses those blue eyes on him, or the smile she always has prepared just for him. 

He shucks off his coat, shimmies out of his blue shirt, and, hardly thinking about it, his hands go to his fly.

Once he's kicked off his shoes and trousers, he resumes his place between her knees and kisses his way up her calf to her thigh. His fingers find the edge of her panties, and he teases her there for a moment as he applies soft kisses to her bare white skin. He half-hopes she'll snap out of it, push him away, but she doesn't. He half-hopes  _ he'll  _ snap out of it, but he can't see a way out of this situation but forward. With little coaxing she lifts up so he can drag her panties down past her ankles.

He continues to kiss his way up her body, pausing to press his nose into her navel and inhale. God, he can barely stand it, that heavy musk, an extra-strength concentration of the cocktail of chemicals unique to her body. He remembers when she was a baby and he couldn't get enough of the smell of her scalp.... He moves up until he's nose to nose with her, anchors himself on an elbow next to her head, and his other hand begins its downward descent. His fingers part her damp thatch of hair, slip through her wet folds, and --

"Dad!" 

She gasps and arches up into him as he enters her with two fingers. She’s so wet he barely has to prime her at all -- his fingers move effortlessly and cause her to toss her head back. Her cheeks get impossibly redder. He could do this forever, he thinks, touch her inside and out, and drags his fingers out and pistons back in, watching the flush spread across her body like sunburnt clouds over an evening sky.  _ So beautiful. _

She's slicked up and dripping with it, but as he begins to crook his fingers up into her, she bites her lip hard like she's in pain. "You okay?" he asks slowly, as if drugged. He's got one hand in her hair, the other in her taut little cunt, which clenches and seems to suckle at his fingers. In response, she just groans and wraps her arms and legs around him and drags him to her. His cock presses up against her wet flesh and despite himself he can't help his hips from rocking into hers. Her wetness is just -- it's so -- he can't --

He squeezes his eyes shut and pretends it's an accident when the head of his cock eases in.

She exhales beneath him like she's been winded and for a moment he stops, waiting for her to relax. He starts to slowly works his way in, gasping and cursing in shock and awe until she's taken all of him. Gone is any pretense that this is solely for her. He's buried to the root, balls flat against the soft curve of her ass, and she's the most amazing thing he's ever seen, felt, tasted. His pelvis hitches against hers reflexively and when he cries out, it's her name on his lips.

He pulls back a moment to stare at her, his whole body trembling as he holds himself up. It's really her, his girl, his Beth staring back at him, the nastiest piece of shit the universe has ever seen.

"Beth!” It comes out a sob. " _ Beth, _ I l-love you s-so much!" His fists are in her hair, on her sweet flushed face, and he doesn't know what to say, how to tell her really what she means to him, that she was his whole world, that he's the man he is in part because of her, that he hates himself for still managing to miss so much of her life, for fucking things up so magnificently between them. He doesn't know what to do, so he just groans and lowers his face to hers and presses tender kisses to her damp forehead and blazing red cheeks before he starts to move again.

She’s exquisitely tight around him. He's fucked women from one side of the galaxy to the next and knows all that talk about women getting "stretched out" is bullshit. But he also knows he's big -- "huge" is the word he usually hears, and it's not an exaggeration. Even flaccid, he's bigger around than his bony wrist, and she's taking it like a champ. A Sanchez through and through, sweet dirty girl, taking everything he’s willing to give her.

Little strokes give way to longer ones, and then they're fucking, he's fucking his little girl, his beautiful baby girl, all white and red, all sighs and moans. Her hair is damp around her face where tears and sweat have run into it; she’s almost steaming with their combined heat. Their flesh clings together at every point of contact, uncomfortably sticky, but nothing breaks Rick out of his trance. It’s like there’s no world outside of them now; all he knows is her, and his sole purpose, the last thing he wants to accomplish in this life, is to make her come, to rip an orgasm out of her that will obliterate the memory of all previous, inferior ones. She's been in such despair, she's been in such pain, and he can make her feel better, he can at least do that. 

"I -- I wanna make -- m-make you feel so g-good, baby girl," he pants.

"Oooh, Daaaaad," she moans, eyes out of focus, and he pops out of her with a sucking sound to kneel back and drag her hips up toward him. He enters her again, this time leaning back so he can look down and watch himself fuck her. Pretty white thighs bracketing his skinny legs, her pink cunt crowned with a neat crop of wheat-colored hair, her clit red and prominent, begging to be touched. Instead, he presses the heel of his hand on the little indentation where belly meets mons, and she groans aloud. He rocks up into her, grinding down with his hand until he can feel the pressure from his cock, until she's sobbing, writhing against him, and then she  _ wails. _

"Ah -- aaahh --  _ Daddy!!" _

The fantasy shatters.

Rick's blood goes cold as he feels her spasm around him where he has her pinned to the bed. Her thighs tremble around his waist, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, and Rick almost goes still at the sight. His mouth fills with the tang of copper, like he’s about to be struck by lightning, and the feeling shoots through his entire body, lighting him up like a filament about to flame out. 

" _ Jesus fuckin' Christ, _ " he manages, all eyes, before he pulls out and coaxes her over. 

"Shit -- ugh -- turn -- turn over for me, baby," he says, looking anywhere but at his daughter. She obliges without a word, shaking as she presents him with her bottom. He plunges into her again, eyes screwed up, and he can imagine this was just about anyone's satiny white ass, anyone's silk-soft golden hair. _ Only thirty-five, _ he thinks, and  _ shit, _ he pulls out, jerking himself roughly, almost painfully, bracing himself with his other hand on her fleshy hip. "Fuck fuck fuck FUCK," he gasps in time with his frantic tugging, and it only takes a few seconds before he cries out, doubles over and comes in hot bursts all over her back and ass, groaning with each brutal, ecstatic pulse. 

When he's finished, he steadies himself, catches his breath, stunned as if someone hit him over the head with a two-by-four. 

_ Fuck.  _ He glances nervously at the still-open door.  _ What the fuck have you done, Rick Sanchez.  _

Finally, horrified, he looks down to see his Beth, still curled in front of him with her bottom in the air, splattered with his cum, and gazing back at him with the queerest expression in her eyes. He looks away, mortified, and lets her sit up.

He finds her panties on the edge of the bed and uses them to gently wipe her back clean. She watches him over her shoulder, her expression one of anxiety and yet, somehow, affection. When he's done she pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She has to be cold, all that cooling sweat, but she makes no move to get under the covers. 

They don’t look at each other.

He leans into her and pulls her head against his face in a wholly inadequate embrace, and then he quickly pulls his clothes on, hyper-aware that she's watching his skinny old ass get dressed.

As he lets himself out, he calls back one final time: "G'night, sweetie." He can barely hear her muffled response, but he doesn’t stick around. As he shuffles off to his own room he finds his flask in his lab coat pocket and takes a desperate pull.

**Author's Note:**

> So! Stickyickysmut posted this 15-page Rickbeth comic that completely sold me on the ship. I swear I've read it about a hundred times in the past 4 days, but I wanted a text-only version for a variety of reasons, including to see if I could translate the emotional depth of those little cartoon facial expressions into text. Well, I don't know if I pulled that off, but if you liked it, be sure to leave a comment and check out the originals!
> 
> For the full comic:  
> [Part 1](https://stickyickysmut.tumblr.com/post/150190992507/part-1-4-ohhhh-here-we-go-ive-had-this)  
> [Part 2](https://stickyickysmut.tumblr.com/post/150195693892/part-24-more-rickbeth-first-time-comicbad-bad)  
> [Part 3](https://stickyickysmut.tumblr.com/post/150243007677/part-3-4-yikes-no-turning-back-now-heres-dat)  
> [Part 4](https://stickyickysmut.tumblr.com/post/150558672007/part-44-the-sinful-finale-rick-is-a-weak-and)
> 
> Title is inspired by a lyric from Iggy Pop's ["Some Weird Sin."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_uF6ObhDks)


End file.
